Wings (A Working Title)
by esstiel
Summary: Twilight AU wherein Sam and Dean are hunters and move in with Bobby in Washington to go to college at the UoW, in Seattle. It's where they meet the Novaks. Each member of the Novak clan is weird in their own ways, especially Castiel, who has a thing for creeper trench coats and even creepier staring. And then one day Cas saves Dean's life, and everything changes.
1. Preface

**_Preface_**

Dean never gave any real thought to how he'd die, before. Sure, he contemplated it when he was feeling moody, or when he was drunk off his ass, but otherwise he didn't worry over it. In his family's line of work, with what they know and what they do, he figured he'd probably end up with his intestines hanging out of him while some creepy crawly dug around in his ribcage for his beating heart.

Not an usual death, all things considered.

What he did know was that, when he did go, he wanted to go in a blaze of glory, guns firing and knives slicing, monster blood painting the world red.

That, or defending someone he loves.

Alastair watches him with his black beady eyes, hooked blade hanging from his hand loosely as he slowly circles the slab Dean's strapped down to. The walls are covered in sigils from what Dean can tell—there's barely enough light to even see the walls. Hell, there's barely enough give in the restraints holding his head down to tell if there's anyone else in the room.

Dean knows what's coming next. And he knows that if it wasn't him, it'd be Sammy.

And, well, dying to defend Sam is probably the best way to die, in his book.


	2. Chapter 1

**_Chapter One_**

Dean's gonna punch Sam's head in if he doesn't stop acting like a little girl.

Ever since they piled their meager possessions into the impala's trunk and waved goodbye to Kansas, Sam's been moping in the passenger seat, looking a helluva lot like Taylor Swift after a break up.

Dean can understand Sam being anxious about moving to another state, about being so far away from Dad and all his friends from high school, but it's _Dean_ who's transferring colleges and losing some ten credit hours in the process. It's Dean who has to go retake a bunch of basic bullshit classes if he hopes to graduate on time, and it's Dean who has to pay the bill with student and federal loans, while Sammy gets a free ride on the genius train.

Not that Dean thinks that's a bad thing—no, he's definitely glad Sam isn't going to be stuck paying off college for the rest of his life, and he's proud as hell of his little brother and his freakishly huge brain. But it was the University of Washington that accepted Sam with a full scholarship instead of somewhere close to home, and Dean wasn't about to let his little brother ride off into the sunset and the great unknown all by himself.

But that's all besides the point, and a big ass can of worms that he doesn't want to open until about fifty years _after _hell freezes over. Right now, Dean's main concern is whether or not Sam's gonna ruin the leather upholstery with menstruation blood. They got a 27-hour haul ahead of them, and Dean'll be damned if he drives the whole way with Sam's personal black cloud hanging overhead.

He considers beating up Sam for a moment longer before scrapping the idea. Violence doesn't usually solve anything, especially in a moving car that he's driving.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says, glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye. "It'll be fine. New city, new girls to embarrass yourself in front of..."

Sam just shoots him bitch face #27—I'm Not In The Mood For Your Shit, Let Me Wallow In Silence, Thanks. Dean's having none of it.

"Seriously, though. We haven't been up to Seattle in, like, ten years. Just think about it." Dean drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "Haven't seen Bobby since you were in middle school, or Jo, or Ellen."

Sam visibly perks up at the idea of seeing Bobby, and almost smiles when he hears Jo's name. "It'd be cool to go shooting with Jo again," he murmurs, the corners of his lips quirking.

"See? Won't be half as bad as you think." Dean reaches over and ruffles Sam's hair, ignoring his affronted squawk, and returns his attention to the road. After a few seconds he reaches for the radio and turns up the volume, filling the car with the sweet sweet crooning of Axl Rose.

* * *

Roughly 35 hours, one motel, five diners and one breakfast burrito-induced emergency pit stop at a gas station bathroom later, Sam and Dean pull off the 101 into Bobby's half-mile-long driveway. By the time they get the car up to the house, the gray clouds overhead have finally let loose and rain is falling in a gentle mist, not hard enough to be considered rain, but just hard enough to be obnoxious if you stand outside for more than a few minutes.

Dean stares out the windshield at the water rolling down the glass. "Forgot about the rain," he mutters, and he wonders when the sun will show its face again. It could be days.

Damn, he's already homesick. Hasn't been in Washington for more than a day and he already wants to be back where the roads stretch on forever into the horizon, where corn fields make a patchwork of the landscape and the sun shines more often than not.

But he has to suck it up and get over it, cause he's stuck in Washington until he graduates college. And when that happens, he'll probably get a job nearby as a mechanic because God knows there won't be anything in his major anywhere in the area considering how many days a year the entire sky is blanketed by cloud cover. He could move back home, or move to a big city, or hell, go to graduate school if he wants to be paying on student loans when he's in his 60s, but that would have to wait until Sam graduates as well.

Sam's staring wide-eyed at the house like a deer in headlights, at the figure standing on the front porch. It's a familiar figure, one wearing a flannel jacket and worn trucker cap, muddy hiking boots and an eternal scowl.

"Go on, go say hi to Bobby," Dean prompts, giving Sam's shoulder a shove. That's all it takes for Sam to open the car door and get out, all gangly arms and legs as he unfolds. Once he gets all his appendages in proper order he's off, jogging to the house and taking the porch steps three at a time and throwing himself at Bobby. He wraps the older man up in a bear hug; Dean can hear his laughter from the car.

Dean moves slower, taking his time. He flips up the collar of his leather jacket against the rain, shoves his hands into his pockets, and makes his way to the house. By the time he gets up the stairs and under the awning, Sam and Bobby have separated and Bobby's talking about how Sam's "turning into a freakin' giant" while Sam grins down at him.

Bobby swings his attention to Dean once he's on the porch and stares at him, mouth pursing and mustache doing that weird wiggle-thing that guys with mustaches do. Dean is silent through the scrutiny, simply meeting Bobby's stare until the old man finally cracks and flashes a smile.

"It's good to see you, boy," he rumbles, grabbing Dean's shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

"You too, Bobby," Dean replies, face breaking into a grin. Damn but it's good to see the old man—the man who helped raise them when Dad was off hunting, the man who taught them to protect themselves, the man who convinced Dad to let them live a (relatively) normal life once Azazel was dead and gone.

Bobby gives Dean's cheek a pat before turning towards the door. "Well, go grab your crap and get it in the house, got food in the oven I gotta take care of."

The boys move to do as they're told, Sam practically oozing giddiness as he pops open the trunk and starts loading himself up with duffel bags. Dean stares at him until Sam looks up and says, "What?"

"Dude, what are you, twelve?" Dean asks with mock-disgust. He reaches up to mush Sam's face—god damn, when the hell had the kid gotten taller than him?—and grins at the muffled "Dean, what the _hell_" from behind his hand. Then something wet is pressing against his palm and its his turn to freak out, because _Sam just licked his hand._

"Are you serious? Jesus Christ!" Dean wipes his hand on his pant leg and glares at Sam as he laughs, though its not long before he's laughing too.

There's just something about being back at Bobby's that puts them in a good mood, something that can't be dampened by a bit of rain. They grab all of their things and walk back to the house, bumping shoulders every once in a while.

Sam does it just because, but Dean does it because it'd be funny as hell to see Sam slip and end up sprawled out in the mud.

* * *

The house is the same as Dean remembers it.

There are books literally everywhere, on chairs, desks, coffee tables, couches, window sills. The wallpaper is old and fading, and the carpet is worn down from decades of walking in the same place. The furniture hasn't even changed, still the same worn in and broken down stuff he's sat on time and time again. The walls are still covered in protection sigils, some as old as the house, some freshly carved and painted. Dean's sure the salt lines are still there too, unbroken and doing their job.

There are only two real differences in the place. One, the kitchen has been updated recently with a newer stove and fridge and appliances. Bobby never says it, and threatens anyone who mentions it, but he actually loves to cook and he's damn good at it too.

Two, the storage room upstairs has been cleared out to make a second bedroom. Sam gets the first bedroom, the one they used to share when they were little, mostly because it has a huge desk for homework and research. The other bedroom, Dean's new bedroom, is dusty and the air is a little stale, but it's open and there's plenty of room for all of Dean's junk. Well, for all of Dean's non-hunter junk. He left all that downstairs to be put with Bobby's things, except for his favorite hunting knife, which he hides underneath his pillow. No such thing as being too prepared, after all.

By the time Dean's got his stuff squared away, Bobby's calling them. "Get your asses down here for dinner," he hollers, and the second Dean steps into the hallway his mouth starts to water. Whatever it is that's downstairs smells freakin' delicious and he hurries to the kitchen to get whatever it is in his mouth,_ right now._

Dean only gets to the bottom of the stairs before he's being tackled by a wild beast of blonde hair and laughter, one that wraps slender arms around his shoulders and smells like vanilla and gun polish. It only takes him a second to figure out who the attacker is and soon he's laughing as well, wrapping his arms around them and swinging them around in a circle before setting them down.

"Well, if it isn't Joanna Beth," he says, looking down at her face, at the warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners with happiness. There was a time, long long ago, where they thought they had a thing. But that time was long past and now all he sees is family.

Jo grins up at him. "Well, if it isn't Dean Winchester," she replies, patting his chest. "In the flesh!" Dean leans down and kisses her forehead before stepping away, and just in time, 'cause Sam's barreling down the stairs into Jo, scooping her up in his arms and taking her away amidst her laughter and feigned shrieks of fear.

Dean watches as they hug and laugh, as they talk about how tall Sam's gotten and how Jo probably has to scare away suitors with her shotgun with how pretty she's become. Somewhere in the kitchen he can hear Ellen yelling at Bobby about something, hear silverware clatter and pots clank together with just a little too much force. Something in his chest swells and he leans against a wall with his arms crossed, a fond smile pulling at his lips.

Sure, living in Lawrence was great, but being with Dad isn't the same as being here in Washington with Bobby and the Harvelle's, with this overwhelming sense of love and acceptance and happiness.

* * *

Its hours later, when everyone's stuffed and lazing around the living room, nursing beers (or whiskey if you're Bobby and Ellen) that Ellen says, "We got somethin' for you, Sam."

Sam and Jo are piled on the couch, Jo laying with her head in his lap and her feet dangling off the arm rest, Sam slouched so far that his legs look like they're a mile long. He sits up, gently moving Jo out of the way so he can sit properly. "Really?" Dean sits up in his chair as well, eyebrows furrowed. Nobody told him anything about getting Sam a present.

Ellen nods and her and Bobby share a look. "A reward for graduating high school and getting a full ride to college." She waves her hand to cut Sam off before he can even open his mouth—to protest that he didn't deserve anything, as he tends to do—and jerks a thumb over her shoulder towards the front door. "It's sittin' out front. Go take a look."

Dean and Sam glance at each other then stand and make their way to the front door. The fact that it's sitting outside has Dean thinking that he knows what it is, but from the look of anticipation on Sam's face as he swings open the front door, he has no idea what it could be.

Sitting in the driveway behind his Impala, Bobby's beat up Camaro and his sheriff cruiser is a 1990 Ford F-150, painted red with a white stripe decal down the sides. The body's in decent condition, in that it doesn't look like it's rusting to hell and back, and Dean trusts the engine is in good shape considering who it's coming from. And even if the truck is a little worn and the paints a little chipped and one of the doors has a few dents, its still a damn fantastic present.

Mostly because it means that Sam will have a way to drive himself to and from class and wherever else he needs to go without having to cross his fingers and hope that Dean or Bobby's schedules lined up with his needs.

And just a little because it meant Dean didn't have to drive Sammy around like a chauffeur.

It takes a second for Sam's brain to catch up to what his eyes are seeing, all the while standing there with a dumb look on his face that has Dean really wishing he had a camera handy. "Holy shit!" he finally exclaims, running up to the truck and running a hand along its side. "This is awesome!" Sam admires every angle of the truck, touching and poking and checking inside and under things, opening the driver side door and looking around the cab.

By then everyone else has joined Dean on the porch, watching as Sam enthusiastically crawls around inside the cab. "That's a nice truck you bought him," Dean says to Ellen and Bobby, since it's pretty clear from the way they were looking at each other inside that they worked together on this one.

Bobby shrugs. "Got it for free. Someone was lookin' to junk it 'cause the engine was trashed to hell, so I took it off his hands. Ellen's been helpin' on the money side and Jo's been helpin' me rebuild it for the last few weeks. Didn't do a bad job, either," he adds as Jo mock-curtseys with a wink.

"They built in a few hidey-holes in the cab and truck for gear, should Sam need it," Ellen puts in. "All of them are protected and well hidden, so he shouldn't have to worry about the wrong person getting their hands on any of his stuff."

"You guys thought of everything, didn't you?" Bobby and Ellen give him a look that clearly says 'of course we did, moron'.

"Hey Dean, lets take it for a drive!" Sam calls from the truck and man, doesn't that sound like a great idea.


End file.
